Sparks and Embers
by Team Damon
Summary: How cruel to taste perfection, the utmost of one's deepest desires, and yet not be able to call it your own. Oneshot


She stares into his eyes, the color of the sky on it's brightest, warmest days, and she knows she'll never be the same. Nobody will ever make her feel this way, like a firework with no end, all sparks and embers, alive, wild, _beautiful_. Because he looks at her in a way that nobody ever has, nor ever will. He is... _everything_.

_Everything_, and she knows that he knows. She can't hide it from him, though she wishes she could. Reality is reality, love is love, and his love doesn't belong to her. What she wants, he can't give her. Those were his words. It hadn't made a difference.

But they're alone now, in the shelter of a dark forest, and this is how she always imagines him when she hears his name spoken by others throughout her days - untamed, powerful, dark, not confined by the crown he now wore. Free. Every bit a ranger and a king both. Just... _him_. All of him.

She can see the moonlight in his eyes, and she can feel the air around her change as he takes a step towards her. Her heart is racing like a horse in the midst of war, her blood is rushing like a waterfall gushing into a rocky abyss, and she can't tear her gaze away from his. She's far from a coward, and her bravery has always been something he's admired greatly about her, but she is unabashedly afraid right now. She knows that if he comes any closer, if his skin touches hers, and if his lips brush just slightly against her own, she will be ruined.

Sometimes she thinks she's ruined already. Nobody is like him. He is the man she never dreamed about because her dreams could have never concocted such a man from mere whispers or girlish imaginations. No, he is perfect because he is imperfect, and she understands that about him. She understands it all.

The night is cold and she's in a mere, thin white dress. Her long golden locks fall in a cascade over her shoulders, until a strong hand reaches out and brushes it back. She shivers and it's not because of the cold - in fact, it could be snowing fiercely right now and she doubts she would feel anything but the fire coursing in her veins.

She can't breathe as he continues to stare into her gray eyes, his face ever closer to hers, and a gentle, small smile creeps on his lips. She dares to glance at that mouth and feels a jolt, another shiver, and she knows he can see it. Maybe she wants him to.

"My dear Eowyn..."

His voice is like silk. Her name on his lips sounds like a song he's written only for her, and she can't help but allow her eyes to flutter shut for a short moment.

"My lady... my strong, brave, beautiful lady..."

She swallows as the palm of his hand cups her cheek, and her eyes open to look into his sadly. "But I am not your lady."

He doesn't blink at these words. "You are. You were mine from the moment your eyes beheld my own."

She knows he's right. She is, and she suspects she always will be, his and his alone, if he so ever chose to make her so. But he has not. "But you are _hers_."

He regards her quietly, his eyes dropping from her eyes to her lips, and leans in infinitesimally as he eventually murmurs in reply, "I am my own, sweet Eowyn."

Then he kisses her, and it is everything she ever imagined it to be and more. He kisses her the way she's always wanted to be kissed, gently but not timidly, strongly but not overbearing or thoughtlessly. His lips are skilled and they caress hers lovingly as her world crumbles to pieces all around her, splits apart and goes up in flames the way that every nerve in her pale body has under his touch.

How cruel to taste perfection, the utmost of one's deepest desires, and yet not be able to call it your own.

She tangles her small fingers in his long dark hair as the kiss begins to wane, and she cannot bear to let go of him. His arms are wrapped around her in a firm and protective embrace that she wishes she could spend all of her nights inside of. No harm could ever befall her while this man's arms are holding her, no tears could fall from her eyes, no sadness could ever touch her again, if only she was his to hold.

But she is not.

"Why come to me," she asks as his forehead rests against hers, and the question comes out as a sob. "Why, when we can never be?" He says nothing, only runs his hand over her clothed shoulder and holds her cheek with his other as a tear escapes her eye. "Why? Why treat me so cruel and coldly?"

He pulls back by an inch or so then, and she sees great sadness in his eyes. Eyes that have seen war, death, love, loss, and victory. Eyes that she became lost in long ago and has yet to find her way back from. "... I shall always wonder what could have been. My mind shall always be haunted with questions that I do not know the answers to."

She understands then, because what could have been cannot be, and it is a fact set in stone and unchangeable. Permanent and fixed. "So you would steal moments such as this? Does this not merely deepen your pain?"

He smiles then, but it is an unbearably sad smile. His thumb strokes her cheek as he says, "Pain is but a small price to pay for this moment, my sweet Eowyn."

And then he kisses her again, and she is lost. Lost to him and lost to passion, pain, perfection, destruction. War and peace, wrapped up in a single kiss and sealed with a loving embrace, because he has _her_, and she has _him_, and that is how it will be until the day they each take their final breaths. They will never belong to one another, because they belong to others, and that is how it is meant to be.

It is a painful, agonizing moment when she feels him slip away from her. His lips leave hers, his arms are gone, and she is no longer standing in a cold forest. Instead, she is warm in her bed, being gently awoken from a fitful dream by the man lying next to her.

"Eowyn," Faramir says softly, his hand on her shoulder, and her eyes flutter open.

It is the middle of the night, and she hurriedly wipes away the tears from her lashes before he notices. Immediately guilt and dismay overcome her - it has been months now, _months_, and she still dreams of him.

"Are you all right?" Faramir asks softly, and she turns towards him, nodding gently.

"Yes, Faramir," she replies, giving him a tight smile. "It was only another dream."

He thinks she dreams of the war, and she does, sometimes. She also dreams of her father, of fear, and of the future. Her mind never seems to rest, it seems, and many nights are like this one.

But it is only when she dreams of _him_ that she feels guilt. She knows she has no control over what she dreams of, but it doesn't stop her from despairing.

She loves Faramir. He is noble and good, and she is happy with the life they've created together. She is not in denial or lying to herself about this - her happiness is genuine. She does not spend her days thinking on what could have been had things been different, because she knows it is futile, and she feels privileged to have Faramir's love. Things have turned out better than she ever could have hoped for.

But then there are times - and they are rare - that she sees _him_. His duties keep him busy, and there is always a clamor of others fighting for a moment of his time, but there are moments when their paths cross. Her eyes meet his, and his lips stretch into a smile that she returns. And it is in those moments that she feels everything she always felt for him. It is all still there, still burning red, still, and always, unrequited.

But maybe, she sometimes thinks, unrequited isn't the right word. She sees it in his eyes, the subtle, barely noticeable sad glimmer as he turns away from her gaze. The one that tells her that sometimes he wonders, too. He is happy with Arwen, his Elven queen, just as she is happy with Faramir. They are with whom they are meant to be with.

But he wonders, and she knows it. She knows that he surely knows that the thoughts are mutual, because she has never been able to hide such things from him. He reads her as well as she reads him, perhaps even more so.

And in the end, it doesn't truly matter.

Faramir draws her into his arms, and she closes her eyes at the warmth of his touch. He kisses the top of her head and then says soothingly, "Sleep, sweet wife. You are safe. There is peace."

She feels a slight pang of guilt, knowing that he thinks she had a nightmare, but there is no purpose in telling the truth this time.

"I love you, Eowyn."

She will never doubt his words, and she is grateful for that. She is his one and only, and she always will be. His sun rises and sets with her, his moon shines brightly on her and illuminates the dark when it creeps up on her, and his love is everything that she needs.

"I love you," she replies, closing her eyes and holding him tightly.

She hopes the dreams will stop someday. But love, love is not something she can control, and she does not try to. She knows she will love Aragorn until her final day, and she knows that nothing can change it. That love may keep the dreams coming back, week after week, sparking guilt and restless sleep, but she hopes it won't.

Faramir's heartbeat thuds rhythmically and soothingly as she waits for sleep to find her again, and she lets her thoughts drift to Gondor's king for a few moments. Was he sleeping now, or was he awake as she was, jarred so by disconcerting visions only to be comforted back to sleep by his loving wife? Perhaps he was sleeping soundly, exhaustion from his daily duties getting the better of him and affording him gloriously dreamless sleep.

Maybe, sometimes, rarely, he would dream as she had, and he would think of her. She hopes he doesn't. She wishes him nothing but joy and contentment, and she would never wish for him to wonder and ask himself "_what if"_. If she was right and had read his gazes correctly, he _did_ have these thoughts. She hopes they were fleeting and quickly forgotten.

She loves him. Love is selfless and kind, and so is she. She is happy. He is happy. And she falls back asleep with a smile on her face, tucking away the sparks and embers into the part of her heart that he occupies. They belong to him.

She could have belonged to him, as well.

**A/N: so, this was super random lol. I wrote this tonight at midnight with pretty much no provocation. It's my first foray into LOTR fics, and I hope a few folks read it and like it. There doesn't appear to be a ton of other Aragorn/Eowyn shippers like myself - or maybe there are? - but this couple is seriously, in my mind, probably the best couple that never happened. Of any fandom. And I've been toying around with fic ideas for a oneshot on and off for a little while, and tonight, apparently inspiration struck :p so do let me know what you think, anyone who reads this. I hope I didn't butcher the characters too badly. Thanks for reading :)**


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